


All Systems Go

by purplestarfish



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not the usual trope, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Sharing a Bed, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:34:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplestarfish/pseuds/purplestarfish
Summary: “Sorry,” Phil signed. “They only had the one room left. Apparently there’s an anime convention in town and things are a nightmare everywhere. They said I was lucky to get a room at all, so I just went with it. I hope that’s okay? It’s a king, so I figured there’s plenty of room…”Phil was looking at him with… some sort of a look in his eyes, but Clint couldn’t concentrate. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears and his palms were sweating.---This is a very different take on the "There's only one bed" trope. Please read the tags and the warnings.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 93





	All Systems Go

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I wrote this as part of coming to terms with learning that I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, so please be aware that that is what this fic is. It is much darker and less fluffy than my usual writing as a result. (Also - I am fine! This fic is not directly indicative of me or my symptoms, and there is no need to worry about me.)
> 
> Please also know that OCD can come in many different variations, and this is just Clint's own experience. If you're wondering if you may be experiencing symptoms, here's somewhere to start: https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/obsessive-compulsive-disorder/symptoms-causes/syc-20354432
> 
> With all that in mind, WARNINGS:  
> \- Told from the perspective of a character with undiagnosed OCD  
> \- Insomnia  
> \- Violent thoughts, including unwanted thoughts of violence against loved ones  
> \- Graphic depiction of violent thoughts  
> \- Brief suicidal thinking  
> \- Panic attack/Anxiety  
> \- Let me know if I missed any others!
> 
> Another note - Clint is Deaf in this fic, and communicates with Phil primarily using ASL. I am not Deaf, so please let me know if I made any mistakes on this!

“I’ll get the bags, you check in?” Clint signed when he was properly parked, having checked the parking brake twice to be safe.

“Sounds good,” Phil signed in reply, exiting the car and walking into the hotel. Clint watched him leave, then turned back to the steering wheel and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

_It’s over, it’s over, it’s over_ , _it’s over_ , he repeated in his head until his heart rate slowed.

The mission had gone well, all things considered – which Clint liked to remind himself of at least every five minutes. They had infiltrated the HYDRA base, neutralized a number of threats, and gotten the intel they needed off the mainframe computer. No one had been hurt – at least none of the good guys – and they were one big step closer to dismantling the entire Nazi operation.

Getting his brain to believe that was another matter altogether, though. Sometimes, letting his guard down after a mission took more work than the mission itself.

Clint pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Natasha. “ _You okay?_ ” he asked. Natasha hadn’t been on mission when they had left, hadn’t been expecting to be any time soon. She was probably on base right now, perfectly safe. If Clint didn’t ask, though, it would turn out that she wasn’t.

So he asked. She expected it.

He stared at the phone for almost two minutes before the reply text came. “ _All systems go, Little Bird_ ,” it read. Clint sighed in relief. That was the message Natasha always sent – so that Clint knew she meant it, that she still had her phone, that she wasn’t being coerced, that she wasn’t –

Well. Anyway, she was safe. That was what the message meant, and Clint didn’t need to call to confirm. He _didn’t_.

Pushing the thoughts out of his mind, he tapped the steering wheel twice and stepped out of the car, walking around to the back to pick up the bags. His anxiety was already starting to dissipate, and he felt more like the version of himself he wanted to be, and not the one that was trapped inside his mind with an obnoxious neighbor.

Gathering his duffel as well as Phil’s, he briefly felt for the zipper on his jeans to make sure he hadn’t forgotten to do it up the last time he’d stopped to use the bathroom. Nope, still where it was supposed to be. He closed the trunk, locked the door twice, and walked casually into the fancy hotel lobby.

Clint didn’t particularly like fancy hotels like this – the beds were always too soft, too fluffy, not at all what he was used to from his life on base or in Brooklyn or at the circus. But they needed a stopover on their way home from the mission, since they hadn’t had access to the Quinjet, and there was a distinct shortage of crappy motels in the area they’d found themselves in.

Besides, Phil had rather expensive taste, and Clint was rather fond of making Phil happy.

Speaking of Phil, it looked like he had just finished up checking them in. He turned to find Clint sauntering into the lobby and signed, “Ready to head up?”

Clint nodded, hands full with their bags.

When they got into the elevator, Clint handed Phil his duffel bag, freeing a hand to sign. “So _Dog Cops_?”

Phil smiled in agreement. “I ordered the pizza while we were in the car,” he replied.

Clint fucking loved him.

Not that – you know – well, he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit to himself that he was in fact _in_ love with him, but that’s not what he meant in this particular instance.

“What’d you get me?” he asked enthusiastically, bouncing slightly on his toes. It had been a long couple of days subsisting on MREs, and he was hungry, goddammit.

“Meat lover’s,” Phil rolled his eyes fondly.

“Yay, you got me bacon?” Clint responded. He grinned at Phil’s nod. Phil didn’t eat pork, so Clint always thought it was sweet when he bought it for Clint without being asked. It felt special, somehow. Like Clint mattered.

The elevator doors opened, and they walked down a long winding hall to their room. _726, 726, 726_ , Clint spelled out the room number in wide loopy numerals in his head as Phil fiddled with the lock on the door.

Walking into the room, Clint paused in confusion. It looked like a single king, but… that couldn’t be right.

He waited for Phil to turn to look at him.

“Did you get us two rooms?” he asked, frowning.

He did not like the sheepish look on Phil’s face. _At all._ Something in his stomach curled up in warning.

“Sorry,” Phil signed. “They only had the one room left. Apparently there’s an anime convention in town and things are a nightmare everywhere. They said I was lucky to get a room at all, so I just went with it. I hope that’s okay? It’s a king, so I figured there’s plenty of room…”

Phil was looking at him with… _some_ sort of a look in his eyes, but Clint couldn’t concentrate. His heart was pounding loudly in his ears and his palms were sweating.

Why was this so terrifying? He’d just spent 36 straight hours infiltrating a HYDRA base, surrounded by guns and people who wanted to use them against him, but this was what bothered him. Sharing a fucking bed. What the _fuck_ was wrong with him?

He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there, but he blinked his eyes twice quickly, shaking his head of the thoughts. Phil looked worried, so first things first, he had to fix that. He had to.

“It’s fine,” he signed, ignoring the way his dominant hand shook against his chest.

“Are you sure?” Phil frowned. “We could always just keep driving if you wanted to… or I can sleep on the floor?”

“Don’t be silly,” he argued. “You’ve been awake as long as I have. And neither of us should be driving right now. It’s fine.”

He tried really, _really_ hard to believe it.

\---

Phil called dibs on the first shower, so Clint stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and sat down on the bed, grabbing the TV remote and starting the search for _Dog Cops._ When he found it, he lay on his back, wondering if he might be tired enough to get just a few minutes of sleep before the pizza arrived or Phil came out of the shower.

It was a hopeless thought, of course.

Just as Clint started to get comfortable, he heard a knock on the door that signalled pizza. He repeated the knocking pattern against the bedframe, grabbed his wallet, and went to answer the door. After tipping the delivery person, he closed the door and took a big whiff. The delicious smells were almost overwhelming. Clint could almost forget everything else in this moment.

“ _I’m starting without you!”_ he shouted at Phil through the bathroom door, vocal chords tight from disuse. He figured Phil would probably get the gist, and if he didn’t, he probably wouldn’t really care anyway. He sat cross-legged on the bed with the meat-lovers’ box in his lap and dug in.

_Oh my god_ , he thought. It was _perfect_. The cheese was just the right amount of melty, and there was garlic pizza sauce that gave the perfect cool counterpoint to the hot bread. The bacon was crispy in contrast to the soft crust, and Clint was in _heaven._

By the time Phil walked out of the bathroom, Clint had already finished three slices. He ate another one as Phil got into pyjamas beside him before putting the remaining half a pizza to the side to save for later. Then it was time for his own shower.

\---

When they were both showered, fed, in pyjamas, and had talked over a couple of episodes of _Dog Cops_ , Phil yawned exaggeratedly.

Clint could tell that meant it was time for them to go to sleep. And _God,_ was he ever tired.

But this was very, very not okay.

The problem wasn’t that it was Phil, Clint thought as he went to the bathroom, drank three sips of water, ate one last bite of pizza, brushed and flossed his teeth twice, and tucked himself into the far side of the bed, lying on his side. It wasn’t because he was in love with him, or because Phil was untrustworthy, or anything else about Phil, really. It was just… not right.

It just wasn’t correct, sharing a bed with someone. He couldn’t handle the heat coming from the other side of the bed, or the vibrations through the mattress when Phil snored. He couldn’t sleep when he was trying not to move around and wake Phil up, or when he couldn’t just get up and go to the bathroom every five minutes until he was sure he really didn’t have to anymore. Not to mention, the mattress was too soft and the blankets were too hot and there was too much light coming in the crack between the curtains, and he just couldn’t _sleep_ , okay?

_Fuck,_ he was so tired.

But he was never going to sleep again. This wasn’t going to work, and he was going to have a heart attack and die from the stress, and then at least he’d get some fucking rest and maybe his brain would stop running, but no, he didn’t actually want to die, he was afraid of dying, please don’t let him die just because he couldn’t sleep, please…

_Stop,_ Clint told himself firmly. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t going to die. It would be just like every other time he hadn’t slept in too long. He would be tired, and stressed, and cranky, and he would humiliate himself by acting like a selfish little child, and then sooner or later he would fall asleep or get drugged and then he would wake up and be fine.

It didn’t feel like it right now, though. He was pretty sure he was going to have a heart attack. Was he having one already?

He rolled over to face Phil, hoping to block the light coming in from the window, but now he felt like he was on the wrong side. And why was it so hot in here?

He kicked off the covers.

Then he was freezing.

He turned onto his back with a huff, blinking back the tears threatening to form in his eyes. Slowly, trying not to wake Phil who was already sleeping soundly – and how dare he – he gently pulled a small piece of the covers over his right leg, hoping it would strike the right balance between hot and cold.

It didn’t, obviously. And now he was thirsty again.

_Okay, just stay still, and you’ll fall asleep sooner or later_ , he told himself. His legs longed to move into a more comfortable position, but he forced himself to stay in one place. He knew from experience that there would never be a comfortable position, after all.

_Think happy thoughts_ , he told himself. _Just picture unicorns and butterflies._

For a few moments, the images were calming. Perhaps not enough to let him drift off to sleep, but they were nice. The unicorns trotted lazily through a sunny field, surrounded by bright purple butterflies.

Phil even walked into the scene in his mind, and smiled at him.

Then the version of Clint in the scene snapped his fingers, and a unicorn’s eyes flashed red and turned towards Phil. It stamped a hoof – twice – then began to run towards Phil.

“Clint!” The version of Phil in Clint’s mind screamed in terror. But that version of Clint just smirked while the unicorn drove its horn directly into Phil.

Blood gushed everywhere.

Clint’s eyes opened with a flash, and he grasped desperately at his chest, trying to catch a single breath.

_What the fuck was_ wrong _with him?_

Clint hadn’t been asleep – of course he hadn’t, he never would be able to again – so why the fuck would he have started imagining something so horrifying? Why would he think of Phil dying, of him standing there and _killing_ him and smiling about it?

He _loved_ Phil. Didn’t he? He did, he was sure he did. Right? So how could he be such a horrible person as to imagine _murdering_ the person he loved most in the whole world?

_Was_ he a murderer? He was an assassin, so yeah, he guessed he was. _Fuck_ , he was _evil._ He was a murderer, a serial killer, and if he was able to kill the bad guys, who was to say he couldn’t kill the good guys, too? Maybe he’d go on a murder spree next week and wake up in prison.

Maybe he was going to murder Phil.

_No, no, please no, please don’t let me hurt him, please._

Clint leaped out of the bed and curled up in a ball, back pressed against the wall with the window on it, as far away from Phil as he could be. He knew there were weapons in the room, and he didn’t want to accidentally grab one, so he sat on his hands.

Phil was curled there, looking so sweet and peaceful. He looked _trusting_.

How could Clint ever breach his trust like that?

Okay, he might be having a panic attack now. Or a heart attack. What was the difference again?

\---

After trying and failing to calm himself down, Clint found himself curled up in the bathtub. He was freezing, but the cool porcelain at least helped him to clear his head for a moment. To stop picturing himself hurting Phil. His heart rate had come down to just a little bit above normal, and his hyperventilation had subsided.

But _fuck_ , was he cold.

Clint still didn’t know what would happen if he couldn’t sleep. In the morning, Phil would have to drive them home, and Clint _certainly_ wouldn’t be able to sleep in the car, and he’d already been awake so long…

The thoughts cycled in his head on repeat, but at least he wasn’t at risk of murdering anyone from inside the bathtub. And at least the bathtub wasn’t so fucking _soft._

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, but suddenly the door was opening and the light was turning on.

“Clint?” Phil signed, bleary eyed. “What are you doing in here?”

_Shit._

“I… it’s fine,” was all he was able to respond.

“If you don’t want to share the bed with me, you can just tell me. Come on, you take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Phil was too nice. Why was he being so _nice_?

“You should get to sleep on the bed,” he replied, hoping that would be enough and that Phil would leave him alone to his misery. Of course, he knew not to expect it.

“You had to do a lot more physical work than me today,” Phil countered. “Seriously, I don’t mind. I’ve slept in much worse.”

_Clint_ had slept in much worse. That was part of the problem. How was he supposed to sleep somewhere so clean?

All he could do was shake his head minutely, but Phil seemed to pick up on something in his face. He sat before Clint on the edge of the bathtub, looking at him gently.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

It took Clint a long time to make the words form on his hands, but eventually he answered, “I can’t sleep.”

“How come?”

“It’s just not right.”

“What can I do to make it better?”

And wasn’t that just the problem. Because nothing would make it better, because nothing was _right_ , and Clint couldn’t let Phil sleep on the floor, but he definitely couldn’t share a bed with him, and that was the end of that.

Tears sprung to Clint’s eyes.

“Do you want to try to sleep in the tub?” Phil asked carefully.

Clint nodded.

“I’ll bring you a pillow and some blankets.”

“No blankets,” Clint signed quickly. “Maybe just… one of those extra sheet things?” A sheet wouldn’t be so hot. Maybe if he could at least get the temperature just right, he could doze off for a while.

Phil paused at that, but nodded, and went into the main room to collect Clint’s things. He brought a pillow, a flat sheet, and Clint’s bow – with no arrows. That was good, Clint probably couldn’t kill anyone with just the bow, at least not without really trying to.

Clint could kiss him.

“Get some rest, and we’ll talk about this in the morning, okay?”

Another spike of fear shot through Clint’s stomach.

“But what if you have to go to the bathroom?” he asked. He couldn’t lock Phil out of the only bathroom in the room. What if Phil got upset and then _he_ couldn’t sleep?

“There’s one off the lobby downstairs. I don’t mind just going down there.”

Oh, okay. Clint would have minded a _lot_ , but he was glad Phil didn’t.

“Okay,” he signed. “Thank you.”

“Good night,” Phil answered, turning to leave the room and closing the door carefully behind him.

Clint got himself settled on the floor of the bathtub with his pillow and sheet, bow tucked between his arms.

It took a good long while, but he eventually fell asleep.

\---

When Clint woke up, it took him several seconds to figure out where he was and to remember what had happened the night before. When he did, he was mortified.

He checked his watch, grabbed his phone to check his emails, and sent another note to Natasha. “ _You okay?_ ”

He stared at the phone until the reply came in. “ _All systems go, Little Bird.”_ He let out a sigh of relief.

Then he climbed his way out of the tub, used the bathroom, brushed his teeth twice, and steeled himself to face Phil.

He opened the bathroom door and stepped out into the room.

Naturally, Phil was already awake and on his laptop, probably starting the mission report before they even got back to base. He looked up at Clint when he entered the room, and put his laptop to the side.

“How are you doing?” Phil signed.

Clint closed his eyes and took a breath. Of course they were going to have to talk about this.

“Better,” he answered. “Sorry for… all that. I didn’t mean to bother you last night.” He really should’ve just lay in bed quietly and not made Phil worry. But then, he was a selfish fuck.

“You didn’t bother me,” Phil shook his head, and the sincerity on his face had Clint almost believing it.

“Still,” he signed. “It’s pretty pathetic not to be able to share a fucking bed.”

“What caused it?” Phil asked gently.

Clint wished he had an answer. “I dunno,” he shrugged. “I just… can’t sleep with other people so close. And with all the fancy hotel beds and shit. I just… can’t get my brain to turn off, I guess. And then the more I think about it the more stressed I get, and it’s just like a vicious cycle.”

“Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”

Clint shook his head. Who would there have been to talk to? And what would have been the point?

“I… did some research, this morning,” Phil admitted finally, and of course he had. “I’ve noticed, in the past that you’ve – well, it doesn’t matter, really – but I’m wondering if you’ve ever considered whether you might have a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder?”

Well that was out of left field. Clint had some anxiety issues, sure, but OCD?

“I’m like the messiest person you know,” he argued. “You’ve seen my room back at base.”

“It’s not all hand-washing and germs, you know?” Phil asked. “That can be one form, but… A lot of it is checking things over and over again, or checking in on people to make sure they’re safe. And intrusive thoughts, things you don’t want to be thinking and that scare you, but that you can’t stop thinking about. Being afraid of yourself and your own thoughts, needing things to be just exactly _right_ so that you don’t have a panic attack, following strict routines to calm yourself down. Apparently the whole hand-washing thing is just the type that’s most popular in Hollywood.”

Clint felt like he’d been bowled over.

_Oh._

Ten million things flashed through his mind and suddenly clicked into place in a way they never had before.

He was going to cry.

“You mean there’s… something wrong with me?” he asked, barely able to make eye contact with Phil.

“Hey, no,” Phil argued quickly, but he didn’t know what was going on in Clint’s head, was just trying to comfort him, so that was okay. “You’re perfect. This is just… something that you struggle with.”

Clint shook his head, needing to clarify. “But you mean… there’s something wrong? I’m sick? So… then I can be fixed. I’m not just a bad person?”

Phil’s eyes widened.

“You’re absolutely not a bad person.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. And we’re going to get a handle on this, okay? We’ll work on it. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“How?” Clint couldn’t handle platitudes. He needed specifics. Luckily, Phil always seemed to be prepared to give them to him.

“I’m going to drive us home,” he started. “And when we get there, we’re going to book an appointment with a S.H.I.E.L.D psychiatrist, and with a counsellor. And then you’re going to get some sleep, and tomorrow we’ll meet with the psychiatrist, and we’ll get you on the medications you need if you want them, and we’ll get started on the appropriate therapies. And I will be there every step of the way, okay?”

Clint was shaking. He needed – well, he didn’t know what he needed, maybe just to sit down. Instead, he found himself suddenly wrapped in Phil Coulson’s arms.

He continued to shake.

He thought about it. Going to therapy sounded awful. But with Phil by his side, maybe it would be okay…

Not while he was hiding things from Phil, though. He wouldn’t take advantage of him.

“I love you,” he signed, pulling back so that Phil could see him.

Phil smiled. “I love you too.”

But that wasn’t right.

“No,” Clint responded. “I mean, I… I’m in love with you. And… I don’t want you to help me with this if you don’t know how I feel. Because I can’t lie to you. And I can’t do this if I don’t know if you’re going to be there at the end. Not in… not in a romantic way or anything. I just need to know now if you’re going to leave when you find out I’m in love with you, and if I’m going to need to do this alone.”

Phil brought a hand up to stroke Clint’s cheek, which he realized now was wet with tears.

“I’m in love with you too,” Phil answered, turning everything that Clint thought he knew upside-down for the second time in as many minutes. “And I think we should put that to the side for now, at least until you’ve gotten some proper sleep and had the time to think about it. But whatever happens there, I will be here with you every step of the way. I promise. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Clint couldn’t answer anymore. There were too many thoughts in his brain, too much had happened in just a few minutes, and he wasn’t keeping up anymore. So instead, he counted to ten in his head, twice, and then lay his forehead against Phil’s chest. He breathed in deeply, and repeated it to himself like a mantra.

_You don’t have to do this alone._

_You don’t have to do this alone._

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please leave comments! (And I welcome constructive feedback, but please do be nice, as this fic was more emotionally difficult for me to write than most.) <3
> 
> I am enabling comment moderation, so if you don't want your comment shared, just write "Anon" and I won't publish it.


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